


Absinthe

by TheMourningMadam



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Cheating, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Open Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 03:46:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18241733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMourningMadam/pseuds/TheMourningMadam
Summary: Hermione becomes ensnared by Draco Malfoy, despite the fact that he is a taken man.Heed the tags.





	Absinthe

 

**Absinthe**

 

**_“Before you leave,_ **

**_please know this;_ **

 

**_I’d rather be the girl_ **

**_whose name dies at your lips_ **

**_every time you try to speak of me,_ **

**_than a girl_ **

**_you tell stories about_ **

**_at parties._ **

 

**_What I’m saying is this,_ **

**_darling._ **

 

**_I’d rather be your absinthe,_ **

**_than your cup of tea.”_ **

 

**_\--Nikita Gill, “Absinthe”_ **

 

Hermione knew she shouldn’t be harboring such feelings with regards to the man of the Manor. When she had taken the position to be an au pair to the Malfoy’s son in France, she had never expected to be so inexplicably taken with his father—particularly given their past. Yet, day after day, she pined secretly after the affluent and arrogant son-of-a-bitch.

 

She found herself dressing in the morning in clothing she knew he would appreciate—seamed stockings because she had seen something similar tucked far away in Astoria’s wardrobe; silk blouses and tight skirts that showed her modest curves beautifully, as opposed to the Lady’s loose-fitting (if not still stylish and posh) wizarding robes; tendrils of curls framing her face so he could tug at them when he teased her.

 

There was always the underlying knowledge that her actions were _wrong_. Draco Malfoy was a married man—happily so, if the gossip rags were to be believed. His wife spoke kindly to Hermione on a daily basis, had opened her home to the witch to live and stay as she cared for Scorpius.

 

Still, those feelings of unease, of disgust in herself, meant little when he smiled in her direction. The man was complete sex on legs—tall, stoic, snarky, confident, and flirty. Her thoughts were entirely consumed with him, living in his home and caring for his child, folding his clothing and cooking his meals.

 

Sitting at the dining table as she assisted Scorpius with his arithmetic, her eyes snapped to the roaring Floo and then followed Draco into the room as he loosened his tie. He made the trek to his son and placed a kiss on his towhead. “Have you been good for Miss Granger, little man?”

 

Scorpius looked up at his father, an indignant look on his five-year-old face. “I’m _always_ good, daddy.”

 

Draco shuffled his fingers through the child’s blond locks and looked to Hermione. “How about you, Miss Granger? Have you been good today?” he questioned with the rise of an eyebrow and a half-smirk.

 

Her heart stuttered in her chest as her lip drew between her teeth. Merlin, he could reduce her to a puddle. Just as she opened her mouth to reply, Scorpius—ever the helpful one—chimed in. “She spilled tea on your rug and then said a bad word.”

 

She clenched her eyes shut, heat rising to her cheeks. “Thank you, Scorp. Nothing slips past you, huh?”

 

“No,” the child said very seriously as he looked down at his work. “Daddy says it’s why I’ll be a good Seeker like him one day.”

 

“He told you he was good, eh?” Hermione teased and the elder Malfoy’s eyes lit with delight.

 

Scorpius nodded emphatically. “Daddy was the best Seeker there ever was!”

 

Draco exchanged a look with her, smiling as he tilted his head and regarded her with a playful glint in his eye. “Well, I guess I’ll have to go rug shopping soon, huh? Maybe find something stain-proof?”

 

He shook his head and stripped the tie from his shirt, tossing it over his arm. Hermione leaned forward on the table, trying to play coy as he eyed her. “Astoria will be out this evening. See to it that Scorpius gets to bed soon. He has a big day tomorrow.”

 

It took far longer than normal for Scorpius to fall asleep that night— a side effect of his nerves over his game the next day, no doubt. It had taken three read-throughs of _Ollie the Flightless Dragon_ to get his eyes to close. She sighed as she closed his door and padded down the corridor.

 

Draco’s door was pulled shut at the end of the hall, a sliver of light creeping from beneath the crack. For all of his teasing, Hermione really _had_ made a mess that would take careful cleaning to rectify—cleaning she had not yet had time to get to. Worrying her bottom lip, she weighed her options. She could either wait until the morning and risk truly ruining the carpeting, or she could interrupt him this evening and risk his ire.

 

Her knuckles tapped lightly against the wood and she pressed an ear to the door, trying to hear any sign of acceptance. There was a faint shuffling and she could have sworn she heard him mutter, “Come in.”

 

She wasn’t so sure of that last bit when she cracked the door open. Her heart sputtered to a swift halt at the sight before her. Draco Malfoy, in all of his naked glory, sprawled across his bed, his cock wrapped in his fist. His head was tossed back into his pillows, his eyes clenched shut. A flush had worked its way over his chest and he was making the most tantalizing sounds. She stood mesmerized as she watched him work himself, a speed that told her he was likely close to finishing.

 

“Fuck, _Granger.”_

 

Her eyes grew wide and she took a step back, tripping over the heel of her shoe. At the bump, his head shot up and his eyes caught hers, though his hand never slowed and he let out a low groan as he came, his thighs shaking lightly and his breath falling in shallow rasps. His hand slowed as she struggled to right herself.

 

“I am so sorry! I just—I mean—I’m gonna go!” she squealed as she turned and snapped the door shut behind her.

 

Hermione’s heart raced erratically as she sprinted down the corridor toward her room. Fuck, she’d fantasized over him for far too long and this would only serve to fuel her arousal for months to come. Her surname never sounded so fucking _appealing_.

 

Once in her room, she locked the door and leaned against it, drawing in long breaths in an attempt to steady her pulse. He had _clearly_ been thinking about her as he touched himself— he’d _said her name!_ Fuck, what did _that_ mean? Was he interested in her, too? Was she just the closest female who _wasn’t_ his wife?

 

Oh, Merlin, this whole situation was so wrong. The proper thing to do would be to put in her resignation papers and move her arse back to London. Draco Malfoy was a married man. She sat at the breakfast table with his _wife_!

 

But Hermione Granger was not a virtuous woman any longer. Her days were occupied with hoping she could engage in flirtatious banter with him, her nights longing to engage in much more lascivious activities. Despite the heavy feeling in her chest, she knew she wouldn’t leave the Malfoy’s French manor until they severed her contract. Her lust had made her far too weak.

 

Still overheated, she undressed and climbed into her sheets completely naked. Her hand found its way between her legs and she knew she was ruined.

* * *

 

“Scorpius, this is not up for debate,” Hermione argued, feeling slightly miffed at the child.

 

He was being a little prat, reminiscent of his father’s spoiled ways, and refusing to eat the eggs and porridge she had made. “I want porridge with chocolate.”

 

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose with a heavy sigh and removed the plate from in front of him. It wouldn’t do to irritate the little prince on a game day. Merlin forbid he wasn’t on his best performance in the _Little Witches and Wizards Quidditch League._ Striding swiftly to the kitchen, she vanished the food and leaned on the sink basin. That child could certainly test her patience.

 

She waved her wand and the porridge began assembling itself in a pan over the fire. “Porridge, again?” came the velvet voice of her dreams from behind her.

 

“Scorpius didn’t want sausage and eggs. I thought it best not to upset him this morning,” she replied, refusing to look at him.

 

“A shame. I know that’s your favorite,” he replied, and she could hear the playfulness to his tone.

 

“Well, if he is to be a great Seeker like his father, it’s best he goes into a game as relaxed as possible,” she retorted, fighting a smile of her own.

 

Malfoy scoffed. “He’s five. Stop spoiling him so much.”

 

Hermione finally turned around, her arms crossed as she leaned back against the sink. He looked at her with a smirk, a challenge in his eye as he dared her to remember the evening before. “Well, we certainly know how the Malfoy men turn out when spoiled far too much.”

 

“True,” he shrugged, lifting a glass of orange juice to his lips, “I _do_ tend to get what I want.”

 

It was a good thing she was leaning back against something sturdy because the innuendo had her knees knocking. He was _definitely_ flirting now. They heard Astoria greet Scorpius in the room beyond and she turned her back on him once more. “I’ll be right out with everyone’s breakfast.”

 

“I still want my full English,” he commented, leaving her alone.

 

Hermione spent a few more minutes rushing to complete the meal, as Astoria would not take too kindly to having to wait too long with an impatient Scorpius. Malfoy had insisted from day one that she eat with them, to act like part of the family since she would be caring for his son. This morning, as she slid into her seat across from him, he watched her every move. “Sleep well, Miss Granger?” he questioned, slipping a bite of toast into his mouth.

 

Her eyes met his and he winked at her. He held no shame in what she had witnessed. In fact, he _enjoyed_ the idea. “Like a dream.”

 

“Daddy, it’s almost time to go! Did you finish polishing my broom?” Scorpius questioned, wholly uninterested in his nanny’s sleeping patterns.

 

“It’s on your bed,” he commented, tucking into his plate to eat a few more bites before Scorpius would no doubt pull them from the table to head to the quidditch pitch...an hour early.

* * *

It was a clear day in Alsace when they apparated to a place beyond the vineyards. The wards shimmered as they stepped through and into a miniature pitch. Magical beings from all over the country had already entered and were mulling about. Tiny children in their quidditch robes— brightly colored orange and turquoise— flitted about, ducking between the adults. “Daddy, I’m going to go find Bigsby and Hollandsworth!” Scorpius said, trying to drop his father’s hand nearly immediately.

 

“Are you wearing your bracelet?” Draco asked, holding steadfast.

 

He had befitted his heir with a silver bracelet that held a tracer, magicked to mirror the one on his own wrist. Scorpius rolled his eyes and Astoria raised a perfectly sculpted brow. The child shoved his sleeve back to present his bedazzled wrist to his father, who nodded approvingly. “Do well, son,” he murmured, sneaking a kiss on the five-year-old’s head before he tore off in the opposite direction.

 

Astoria let go of Draco’s other arm and began walking toward the stands. Hermione stifled down a snort— that witch was far too much like Narcissa for Draco’s own good. Her nose was curled into a look of disgust at having to sit in a common area with all of the other parents. “I’m going to find us a seat while you two find refreshments.”

 

While she wasn’t the worst human being Hermione had ever come into contact with (how could she be when Hermione herself was pining after the witch’s husband?), but she certainly wasn’t the most pleasant either. She came from money and privilege, and everything she did, wore, and said oozed high society. It honestly surprised her that Astoria would even allow her child to stoop so low, but given her husband’s proclivity for the sport, she may not have had a say.

 

Draco watched her go and sighed, the tension on his shoulders melting away some. Hermione began walking slowly, pulling the wide, floppy brim of her hat further down to shade her face. “She seems out of sorts here.”

 

“She’s keeping up appearances, of course,” Malfoy drawled, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Wouldn’t do to have the au pair out with her husband alone, after all.”

 

Though he was dressed in immaculately pressed trousers and a white button-down, he looked right at home in the French countryside, a lazy smile plastered on his face. Hermione wanted nothing more than to be alone, though she simply shrugged one shoulder. “It’s not as though we’ve done anything.”

 

She could have sworn he mumbled, “yet,” under his breath as they stepped into line to purchase leather water canteens. “Astoria cares very little about real emotion or genuine shows of love. She dotes on him in front of you because it is expected of her as a mother. Everything she does is for show— she walks around as though she has something to prove to everyone.”

 

“That’s ridiculous,” Hermione quipped, shaking her head as she retrieved the canteens.

 

_“That’s_ pureblood aristocracy,” Draco corrected lightly, turning so they could begin walking toward his wife, who was very likely waiting in the stands and looking wholly uncomfortable.

 

Her nose wrinkled involuntarily. “I don’t know how you can go about life in such a way.”

 

Draco laughed and Hermione had the couth to feel guilty over her judgmental tone. “I’m sorry, I just meant—”

 

He put his hand up and silenced her with an indolent wave. “Don’t be. I know how it must seem to someone who didn’t grow up in this kind of environment— stiff, unfeeling, _boring._ Hell, _I_ feel that way most days and I live it.”

 

They entered the stands— the pitch was half the size of the ones from their alma mater— and spotted Astoria with ease, sitting in the stands alone. “I think that’s why I like you so much, Granger,” he mentioned, waving for her to go up the stairs before him, “you’re carefree and uninhibited. If you want an ice cream cone, you don’t think about how it will affect your waistline six months down the road. You dress to enhance your natural beauty, not all muddled behind glamor charms and hair potions. You speak on exactly what you think and how you feel.”

 

A frown reached her lips. “Those all sound like terrible qualities to have when you put it like that.”

 

He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “No. It’s _refreshing.”_

 

They reached Astoria and took a seat on either side of her. Hermione sat a distance from her, trying desperately to keep her eyes away from the object of her fantasies. In her peripheral, she saw his hand graze over Astoria’s leg, beginning at her knee and moving up slightly until she swatted him away. Draco pursed his lips and leaned back on his elbows against the bench behind them.

 

Hermione scanned the pitch and easily found Scorpius’ blond hair shining in the sunlight. He was showing off his newly polished broom—one of a quality that no five-year-old had any business owning. Typical Malfoy male.

 

For all of the headaches he gave her, Hermione did find herself thinking of Scorpius as her adoptive child. They spent hours together each day and she was equally proud—or perhaps more so—than his own mother about the small accomplishments. He was shaping up to be a fantastic Seeker, even at his tender age.

 

Once all of the players kicked off—flying no higher than the age appropriate ten feet off of the ground—it was easier to ignore Draco. Hermione cheered for the young boy, much to the silent disapproval of his mother and amusement of his father.

 

“Hermione,” Astoria began as Hermione cheered loudly for the third time, “I think I am quite thirsty. Do you think you can be a darling and bring me something to drink?”

 

She set her flag down and pushed away from the bench with a nod, eyeing the untouched canteen to Astoria’s left. “Of course. I’ll be right back.”

 

She moved to walk past Draco, who didn’t lift his legs to let her pass. She looked at him and he was smirking at her, still impeding her path with his outstretched legs. He was challenging her and she felt heat rise in her chest as she lifted her legs as daintily as possible to step over his barrier. “Arsehole,” she murmured and Draco laughed.

 

“Draco, act like you had a proper upbringing,” his wife chided as Hermione walked away.

 

As she interacted with the individual selling water, she thought about how different Astoria and Draco really were. She was tightly wound and prim at all times while he seemed to have a free spirit hidden beneath years of oppressive societal rules and regulations. They seemed to get along well enough, but Hermione could see the burning desire—untapped and raw— smoldering just behind his grey eyes.

 

She turned and Draco was there, leaning against the pillar beneath the stands, his arms crossed and his signature smirk on his features. As she removed her hat self-consciously, Hermione’s insides squirmed at the look he was giving her as she sauntered over to where he waited. “What are you doing down here?” she inquired, handing him the water canteen.

 

He promptly shrank it and stowed it in his pocket. “You cheer for Scorpius as though he’s your own.”

 

His statement bewildered Hermione and she was momentarily stunned into silence. She couldn’t be for certain, but it sounded like an underlying accusation. “Why wouldn’t I? I love him like he were my own.”

 

“Even through his tantrums?” he asked, moving to cross the remaining few feet to where she stood.

 

She tried to laugh, to pretend that the moment hadn’t gotten quite as serious as it had. “Well, he _is_ your son—tantrums are to expected.”

 

Draco put a hand underneath of her curls and pulled her face to his, his lips pressing firmly to hers in one swift motion. Her eyes grew wide as she realized what he was doing, whilst she worried that someone would see them. But they had strayed out of sight of the vendors and there were very few attendees down here.

 

Hidden under the seats of the stands and pressed against a support column, Hermione closed her eyes and savored the moment she had spent so many sleepless nights longing for. She parted her lips, inviting Draco’s tongue to glide into her mouth. His fist curled into her hair, simultaneously pushing her against him and pulling enough to send tingles down her spine. Her hand found its way to his forearm and she clung to it as she pressed into him.

 

“I’ve wanted you for so _fucking_ long,” he admitted when he broke their kiss to skim his nose along the exposed flesh of her neck.

 

“Draco,” she began, whimpering slightly when he nipped at her collarbone, “we’ll be caught down here.”

 

He hummed in agreement, the heady sense of arousal clouding his judgment. “I don’t care.”

 

“Think of Scorpius,” she commented, and as an afterthought, she added, “And Astoria.”

 

A groan caught in her throat as he rolled his hips against hers. “Astoria is sleeping with the assistant to the French Minister. Why do you think she goes to so many “meetings?” Our marriage is all for show—and an heir,” he muttered, though he pulled away from her.

 

Her heart was thumping as a blush stained her cheeks. Draco looked down at her, dazed by their kiss and still in pristine condition as he took the hat from her hand and tucked it on her head. “This isn’t over.”

 

A jolt of fiery arousal shot straight to her core, already dripping with the need his kiss had ignited within her. The need to be filled with him completely was nearly painful as she pressed her thighs together and closed her eyes, giving him a single nod in answer. _“This isn’t over.”_ That promise, one so absolutely wicked and immoral, was the only thing keeping her upright when she pushed away from the wooden beam.

 

His fingers tickled over her collarbones as he pressed a chaste kiss to her lips before brushing past her. Hermione stayed still for a few minutes longer, trying to catch her breath as she closed her eyes. His taste was still on her tongue, his scent clinging to her hair where his hands had been.

* * *

_“You think I don’t know what you were doing, Draco?”_ Astoria’s high-pitched screech echoed down the corridor and into Hermione’s room.

 

She raised her wand to lift a Silencing Charm over the perimeter of the room, but the next words out of the Malfoy’s witch’s mouth stopped her. _“If you are going to rendezvous about with the help, can you at least do it in private? What would people think of you? Of me?”_

 

Hermione strained to hear the next words, but Draco was speaking in such a low whisper she had a difficult time making out his response, only catching a few phrases like _“Gaspard Lemieux”_ and _“no one has a meeting every other day!”_ So his words had been true—Astoria was very much having a very open affair with the Minister’s assistant and he knew all about it.

 

_Does that make our actions any less despicable?_ Hermione tried to reason as she sat on the edge of her bed. She’d never heard the couple argue before, never heard them be outright rude to one another. But it was with merciless vitriol that Astoria Malfoy ripped from her room and tore down toward the dining room. “I’m going to Daphne’s! You sort this all out, Draco Malfoy!”

 

Cringing, Hermione hoped the silencing spell she put over Scorpius’ room had held. For a few long minutes, there was no noise until a subtle knock sounded at her door. She looked toward the door as Draco let himself in, clicking the door shut and locking it behind him. “I don’t think—”

 

Hermione was cut off when he crossed the room in two strides and leaned over her, capturing her lips with his own and bringing all rational thought to a halt. He pushed her back into her bedding, his knees between hers as he ran a hand over her thigh, pushing her sundress up to bunch around her waist.

 

She’d just listened to Draco’s wife give her consent to an affair, as long as it didn’t affect society’s view on the Malfoy name, and yet, she still harbored a sense of naughtiness. “Draco,” she pushed him away so she could speak and he dragged his lips down the open front of her dress. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

 

His eyes met hers as he lifted his face just enough to give her an indignant look. “Do you really think she’s going to Daphne’s? No—she’s running to her French beau right now.”

 

“How can you be certain?” Hermione asked, biting her lip as he licked a line between her breasts.

 

“Has Potter ever mentioned Astoria sleeping in their guest room?” he inquired, raising an eyebrow.

 

Hermione wrinkled her brow, placing her hands on his shoulders to stop his movements. He groaned and dropped his forehead against her chest. “No, but why would he?”

 

“Because,” Draco started, his tone turning irritated, “Astoria _‘goes to Daphne’s’_ three to four times a week.”

 

Her lips parted and she gaped at him. He lifted up and brushed a curl away from her forehead. “Astoria and I were married under contractual obligation—nothing more. I love my son, but I would have prefered to marry someone who could actually stand the thought of _being married_ to me. Our relationship is open— we both know about the others, we just look the other way. That’s the way it works in Pureblood society, Granger.”

 

As he spoke, Draco stood away from her completely and ran a hand through his hair. She leaned up on her elbows, and watched as he sat in the chair next to her bed languidly. “And you’re okay with this?”

 

He shrugged. “It’s how I was raised— mother ignored father’s extramarital affairs and I ignore my wife’s. No one in the Sacred Twenty-Eight marries for _love_.”

 

“But haven’t you wished for love?” she asked, pulling her dressed closed as she sat up and looked to him.

 

“Of course I have,” he muttered, averting his eyes under her watchful stare. “I’ve even looked into an annulment. I just have to make sure everything goes smoothly for Scorpius—it wouldn’t be fair to have him suffer because his parents loathed one another.”

 

She stood and sauntered to where he sat, illuminated only by the moonlight from the window next to his chair. Her fingertips grazed along his jawline, prickly with the day’s growth. “I meant with _her_ ? Haven’t you ever wished _she_ would love you?”

 

His face tilted up to face her and his hands found her legs once more. “Granger, there has only ever been one witch I wished to love and be loved by.”

 

In the dim light, his eyes bored into her. Hermione lifted her other hand until she was cupping his face in both. “Why me?”

 

Draco remained silent, seemingly to choose his words. “Astoria is like a sip of tea,” he finally said and Hermione raised a curious eyebrow. “Tasteful. Clean. Expected.”

 

“Tea?”

 

He nodded, and his hand slid up the back of her leg to grasp her bare arse. “And you are different. You’re like—”

 

“Firewhisky?”

 

_“Absinthe,”_ he corrected swiftly, placing a peck to her abdomen as she hovered above him, running her thumbs along his jaw. “Addictive. Intoxicating. _Destructive_.”

 

She tried to pull away but his hands held her steadfast to him. “That’s not good,” she argued.

 

“I’m not trying to be good, Granger,” he murmured, sliding his hands around to unbutton the front of her dress. “And I don’t want you to be a good girl, either.”

 

“You’re wife—”

 

“Has another man’s prick in her as we speak,” he finished just as he unbuttoned the bottom button. “I don’t give a fuck about Astoria. Only this—only you.”

 

_Fuck._ He was smooth. Months of yearning for his touch and she was melting beneath it. The first kiss she initiated was tentative, shy. He wound his fingers into her hair once more as she moved to unbuckle his belt. He was more than happy for her to take the lead as her hand slipped into the waistband of his boxers and he let out a hiss of breath. _“Fuck, Granger.”_

 

It was the exact phrase he had uttered the day before when she had caught him alone in his room. The memory of him pumping himself was enough to cause her arousal to spike and she wasted no time in pulling his trousers and boxers down and off. She kicked them to the side and eyed his hard cock with a lick of her lips. He smirked— that fucking arrogant prick— and raised a smug brow. “See something you like?”

 

His smirk faltered only slightly when she climbed over his lap and straddled his hips. She teased him, brushing her silken core over him, as she unbuttoned his shirt. “What’s the matter, Draco? Growing impatient?”

 

A groan fell from his lips as he grabbed her hips and put all of her teasing to an end with a swift thrust upward. A guttural moan bubbled up in her chest as she slipped the dress from her shoulders, leaving her completely bared to him.

 

So many nights she’d lain in the bed two feet from them, thinking about this very moment. But her dreams were nothing compared to the way he actually felt as his fingertips pressed into her hips and ground her down on his cock repeatedly. Her hands delved under his opened shirt, running over the hard planes of his body.

 

“I’ve wanted you for a long time as well,” she confessed, holding onto his shoulders.

 

“You could have me—even before I married Astoria, you could have had me,” he murmured, silencing her rebuttal with a hard nip to her bottom lip.

 

She stored that away to obsess over later, trying instead to focus on there here-and-now. Draco Malfoy was kissing her, fucking her, touching her. His head dipped so he could drag his mouth along her throat and over the swells of her breasts. Licking over her nipple, he bit down hard before moving to lick the painfully pebbled bud into his mouth.

 

Hermione’s head fell back as her chest arched toward him, desperate to close the distance between his mouth and her body. The pad of his thumb found her and rubbed circles over her clit with just the right amount of pressure. His other hand clutched into her sides as he stilled her sinuous grinding. His hips bucked upward into her at a frantic pace and his fingers on her became less controlled and more frenzied.

 

Each of his thrusts hit her at just the right spot as her breathing became erratic. Her toes curled on either side of his legs as her nails bit into the skin of his shoulders, nearly drawing blood. His kisses on her skin were messy and wet and painful. Her hips began to lift and fall opposite him, working in unison to create a disastrous pace. Her entire body felt as though it were alight with flame, her cunt clenching around him as she rode him through her orgasm.

 

He refused to allow her to slow, using his hands to guide her, chasing his own release when she felt as though she were to spent to continue. Groaning, his face fell forward, his forehead against her breastplate as he gave her a few lazy thrusts. His body quivered beneath her as she brought her lips to his once more. “We can’t do this again, Draco. Not until the annulment.”

 

“You’d better move back to England, then,” he murmured, kissing over her pulsepoint. “Because I can’t possibly live alongside you for months without doing this every day.”

* * *

 


End file.
